Royal Blue
by girl in the glen
Summary: Drugs, THRUSH, a battered UNCLE agent... so what else is new?


"C'mon man, just take it. It's like… wow, it's magic, man, like… magic." The hippie with the little blue pill was trying his best to convince the blond in the black turtleneck that his eyes would be opened and the answers to all of the questions in the universe available to him if only he would swallow that pill.

"Really, no… but thank you. I have no desire…" That irritated the grubby looking fellow, and in an instant he had Illya Kuryakin pinned to the floor, his words a seething hiss as he shoved the pill into the agent's mouth, past stubborn lips and teeth that were pried apart with the help of another equally rumpled figure.

"Take it Mr. UNCLE man, you know you want to." And with that the little blue pill was on its way to wherever such things must go. As was Illya, on a trip he would not likely return from without collateral damage, at least that was what the THRUSH agent hoped.

"Get him out of here, he's been hanging around here too long. He won't survive this without some damage to the famous Kuryakin brain. Let's see how Uncle Alex likes his agent with a little lysergic acid diethylamide in his Russian bloodstream. I don't guess we'll be bothered with the likes of him for much longer."

Ryker threw the blond out of the van and onto the street, speeding away as they just dropped UNCLE's second best agent onto the dirty New York street. Illya's head hit the pavement, knocking him out cold, but in full sight of a sidewalk full of pedestrians.

"Hey, did you see that? Call the police, call an ambulance!'' The crowd gathered around the crumpled form, commenting on the brutality that was beginning to dot their neighborhoods. This poor young man looked as though he might be badly hurt, and a few women noted his looks, shaking their heads at the sight of such a handsome young man being treated so badly.

It was two hours before UNCLE Headquarters was notified of Illya's admittance to New York's Bellevue Hospital; his UNCLE identification placed him in the same category as the city's uniformed officers who were treated there alongside dignitaries and presidents.

Napoleon Solo picked up his phone in mid-sentence as he was speaking to Mark Slate.

"Hello… Oh, yes sir. No sir, I was not expecting to hear from Mr. Kuryakin for another…' He checked his watch,

"Illya should be checking in…" Mark noted the change in expression. Instantly he knew that something had happened to Napoleon's partner.

"I'm on my way sir. Yes, I'll let you know as soon as I speak to the doctors there. Goodbye sir."

Mark was watching Napoleon's expression, the worry evident in spite of his practiced, unemotional demeanor.

"What is it? Is Illya all right?" Mark had a lump in his throat as he imagined his own partner, how distressing it would be to get a call with bad news.

"He's in Bellevue, he was dumped out of a van around ten this morning. He isn't badly hurt, but…" Mark knew that there was more, and decided to not push for details just yet.

"All right mate, let's just get down there and see how our Ruskie is doing. We don't want him terrorizing the nurses at Bellevue, now do we." He hoped a little humor might help, but Napoleon wasn't buying it.

"He was given something Mark. The doctors think it might be LSD. He is, as we speak, on a trip."

That shocked Mark more than if their friend had been shot or badly beaten.

"Illya? On a trip, on drugs?" Napoleon nodded. "Well, that is something. I wonder what that… um… "

"Looks like? Mr. Always In Control on a mind bending acid trip… Let's go, Mark. Let's not say anything to anyone else, okay. Not even April." Mark was nodding his head in agreement when the very same popped her head in the doorway.

"What about April? Where are you two off to?" She wasn't a spy for nothing. It was highly unlikely that they would get out of Headquarters without her.

"Oh well… look, April…" She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. Something was going on and she wasn't letting them out of this office until they told her exactly what it was.

"Illya is in the hospital, over at Bellevue." She looked alarmed at first, but quieted her emotions enough to calmly ask what had happened.

"Is that where you're going now? I'm coming with you, and don't try to stop me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Luv. Just … well… You tell her Napoleon." Mark didn't know how to phrase it, and as the varying reactions to the drug were unpredictable, they really didn't know how it would affect Kuryakin.

"April, Illya was undercover in a THRUSH drug den, a place that was recruiting young people by feeding them pills and marijuana. Apparently Illya took some LSD, whether by choice or forced on him we don't know. He was thrown out of a speeding van though, and the initial treatment was dealing with the scrapes and bruises he got from that."

April's face didn't show any reaction to this news. Their jobs meant that they were always susceptible to the environment they infiltrated. She didn't believe for a minute though, that Illya would willingly take drugs that could make him lose control of a situation, or of his own actions.

"Okay, let's go. Illya was given the LSD and then left for dead, or perhaps just to prove that THRUSH can sometimes get the upper hand. Whatever it is, Illya will need us there to give him some stability and to bring him back from whatever kind of trip he might end up on." She turned to leave then, fully expecting that Napoleon and Mark were right behind her.

 _Illya Kuryakin was a prince, a royal among his people and ruler of vast domains. All of his servants were dressed in white, a reflection of the purity of his intentions, perhaps. He couldn't remember. The main problem was their inability, or refusal to answer to his demands. None of them were speaking Russian and he demanded that they acquiesce to his proclamation that everyone speak Russian. His bedclothes were too tight, he was having difficulty getting up and … ruling. He needed to rule._

When the trio of agents from UNCLE walked into the room they were not surprised to see Illya in restraints. He was speaking Russian, spouting out orders to invisible people, confounding the nurses and aggravating his state of mind. Napoleon and April caught bits of what he was saying, and neither of them could hold back a chuckle at Illya's fantastical flight of fantasy. He seemed to be living out some hallucination of being Czar of Russia, watching what was, no doubt, fireworks going off in the sky based on his comments and the look of amazement in his eyes.

"Oh my, he's adorable when he's mad. Do the doctors know how long this will last?" April was smitten with the blond, from the first day she had met him. This did not deter her crush in the least. Even on an LSD infused adventure, the Russian was a sight to behold.

Napoleon had to laugh at the nature of Illya's 'trip'. Most people just saw stars or had deep spiritual revelations, or so they thought. Leave it to Illya to assume a throne in his delusions.

"I'll go have a chat with is doctor, see what the prognosis is. You two keep him company, just don't disappoint him, he thinks he's the king of the hill."

The day turned to night and by the next morning Illya was sleeping, the restraints removed. He was bruised slightly and the doctor had discovered a cracked rib from its impact with the street. All in all, Kuryakin had made out pretty well for having been thrown from a moving van in a state of drug induced bliss. Then again, perhaps that is what saved him from worse.

Cracking one eye open, Illya saw his partner sitting in a chair near the window. He didn't remember anything except that last bit of conflict as the THRUSH Hippie shoved the pill down his throat. It would take most of the day for him to fully recall his trip, and then it would take days to get over his shock at having acted out the role of a monarch. The Glorious Revolution had ended all of that, so what did it say about him that his subconscious seemed to yearn for its return. Bozhe moy.

"How long have I been here?" The question was always first, before all others.

"Just since yesterday morning. How do you feel?" Napoleon knew there would be headaches, soreness and some remorse for having been bested by THRUSH. It happened; not often, but it happened.

"I feel as though I have been away. I just do not recall yet exactly where I went. I don't suppose you want to tell me? I know they gave me LSD, so I expect the worst." He did, but then again he was already used to the worst kinds of drugs in his systems. How bad could LSD be when compared to the poison THRUSH regularly pumped into people?

"It will come to you, don't worry. And when it does, just remember, sometimes our subconscious tells more about ourselves than we want to admit." The smile was unmistakable, and Illya knew without a doubt that he would live to regret this. All of it.

"Very well, but whatever I did or said, I attribute it to the drugs, all of it. I am not responsible, and my sub-conscious has nothing to do with it." He had already had a glimpse of what his mind had conjured up. There were stories from his mother's side of the family concerning royals and courtly adventures. He could live with that, because there might be an element of truth to it.

He would never admit it though. Not ever.


End file.
